Mea Culpa
by Tinnuial
Summary: Neal is missing and Jones thinks about how it all went wrong. Prequel to Fragile.
1. Chapter 1

Mea Culpa

Summary: Neal is missing and Jones thinks about how it all went wrong. Prequel to Fragile.

Warning: Some language, depiction of injury.

Author's Note: People really liked seeing Jones' POV before, so here's a bit more to the story!

...

Peter Burke may not have been the most demonstrative boss that Jones had ever had the pleasure of serving under, but he was a fair, even-handed man who led by unwavering, steadfast example. He was a man who genuinely cared for his agents and in his own brilliant way, inspired them to greater things. Jones couldn't imagine working for or trying to emulate a better person and for that reason, had chosen to remain in New York with Peter's team in the relatively small White Collar Division, even when he had been offered a promotion to a more prestigious position in DC. Peter had never spoken of it, but Jones liked to think Peter rewarded that loyalty with his trust.

He also liked to think he knew the man fairly well. In his tenure with the White Collar Division, he had seen Peter at his best, and at his worst, when he was furious, when he was hair-pullingly frustrated, when he was grief-stricken, when he was surprised, when he was smugly pleased with himself, when he was proud of his team.

But as they sat opposite each other in the van, speeding towards a location on the docks, he'd never seen Peter so visibly anxious and worried in all the years he had known the man. Neal was missing and had been missing for over a week now. The pragmatically realistic part of him knew that their chances of recovering Neal alive and unharmed at this point were very, very small.

...

Jones had come into work ten days ago and had immediately noticed Peter and Neal in Hughes' office with Ruiz from Organized Crime. Even from a distance, Peter had been distinctly displeased. Hughes looked surprisingly resigned. Whatever it was, it couldn't be good. Peter suddenly stalked out of the room in disgust, with Neal trailing him like a faithful hound. They talked some more in Peter's office before Neal left with a jaunty wave and fake smile that fooled nobody. He was already inscrutably unreadable by the time he was seated at his own desk, right beside Jones' own.

Neal looked up at him.

"Hi, Jones."

"Morning, Neal."

Neal was uncharacteristically silent after that. No compliments on his tie that day, whether he'd had a good night, plans for the weekend, how was his mother and so on.

Tentatively, Jones decided a direct approach might be best.

"So what's up with Ruiz?"

Jones was well aware that Ruiz objected to Neal's presence at the FBI, and had openly derided him without censure on numerous occasions. It hadn't sat well with Jones then, and he definitely had a bad feeling about it now.

"Ruiz wants to borrow me for his latest fishing expedition with the Russians."

Jones tried not to baulk. The body count on that stack of case files was more of a running tally.

"Hughes approved his request?" Jones couldn't help the feeling of incredulousness. He already knew how Peter felt about all this.

"I get the impression that Hughes doesn't want to, but he knows the stakes; Ruiz has an in, he's got to take it. And he's going to use every...asset..." Neal all but spat the word out "that he has access to. Win some, lose some. That's how this game is played, isn't it."

His brow knit in worry. Jones knew Peter liked to joke that he owned Neal and he wasn't entirely sure what Neal's consulting contract covered but Neal didn't seem to think he had a choice in the matter.

"Neal. You know, regardless of how you came to work for the FBI, you're a consultant with a civil service and there are laws that protect you. If you're not comfortable or you think it places you in danger, you can refuse the assignment. Peter will back you on that."

Neal stilled, serious as Jones had ever seen him, and looked Jones straight in the eye.

"Peter doesn't answer to himself. That's how _that_ game is played."

Jones was no stranger to office politics but this felt wrong on so many levels. It felt wrong that there were people he worked with who thought that they could play fast and loose with a man's life, but he realized it galled him more that Neal seemed to think he was expendable.

...

In Jones' mind, the only word he could use to describe the op itself was one giant clusterfuck. Ruiz being the bastard that he was, refused to let Peter's team take part in the sting. They'd had to follow every painstaking moment from a hastily set up satellite com station in the conference room. Neal had done exactly as planned and had issued the agreed-upon take-down signal after securing the evidence they needed on tape. But Ruiz had refused to send in back-up, insisting that Neal keep cover until further notice when shots started ringing over the wire. They lost him before they could recover the scene. All they found was an ominous blood trail leading out to where a getaway vehicle must have been stashed.

Hughes had been furious. Jones personally felt that Hughes should have known better, given their track record for all the times they had loaned Neal out to other departments, though Hughes had probably been expecting a modicum of professionalism from Ruiz as head of division.

If Hughes was furious, Peter all but went berserk. He had never seen rage of such intensity flashing in Peter's eyes or such tension in the lines of his back and in his coiled fists, gripped so tight his nails might have broken skin. When Ruiz's team finally slunk back into the division office, the whole floor watched as Peter stormed down the stairs, crossed the bullpen in a number of strides and shoved open the glass doors to grab Ruiz by the lapels and slam him into the wall by the elevators.

Jones scrambled out of his chair while everyone else had stood rooted to the spot. It took every ounce of his not inconsiderable muscle mass, and went against every hard-fought instinct of his own to grab and restrain Peter's fist before it met Ruiz' wretched face. Because lord knows, Jones bore no love for him either.

"PETER!" Jones ground out; the sheer effort of holding Peter back making his voice shudder in exertion. "Peter, he's NOT worth it!"

His words had the opposite effect and Peter only struggled harder, cursing him out with words that Jones hadn't known Peter possessed in his vocabulary.

Jones felt his mind grasping for something, anything that might reach Peter.

"If you do this, Hughes will have no choice but to suspend you and who's going to find Neal then?"

And thank god it worked, because the fight slowly bled out of Peter and he released Ruiz from his vicious grip and shrugged off Jones' hold on him too. Maybe he'd picked it up from Neal, because although his eyes were still shooting daggers, Peter tugged his clothes into order, and had schooled himself into a facade of deliberate, straight-backed respectability in that span of moments, intense and severe, as they turned to take in Hughes and Diana standing in the doorway, every eye in the room following them through the glass.

...

What followed was the longest slog of a week that Jones could think of in living memory. The entire White Collar division had thrown themselves single-mindedly into getting Neal back, and even Hughes had joined them on the floor. Part of him hoped that Hughes felt guilty about his part in all this, though Jones was mature enough to know that at Hughes' level in their line of work, hard decisions sometimes came with a price. He thought back to his conversation with Neal that fateful morning and felt his own guilt sear through him for not bringing it up with Peter. But Jones looked over at Peter, who was already tormenting himself with enough guilt for all them, and he decided that Peter did not need to know just then that Neal had essentially chosen Peter's career over his own safety and quite possibly, his life.

Jones knew that Peter saw Neal as his responsibility, not just in terms of keeping Neal in line, but also in terms of his protection and well-being. Jones had also watched that improbable relationship grow from the day it started. People wondered how on earth two men so unalike in every way and with a history such as theirs could work so well together. As he turned the thought over and over in his mind, he came to the realisation that it was because they respected one other. And against all odds, they _liked_ each other. He was well aware that Peter turned to Neal first on most any case that came across their desks, that he valued Neal's input as a partner, and not as a subordinate. Not for the first time, it occurred to Jones that he had every right to resent Neal for seemingly usurping what he could see as _his_ position on Peter's team, as his most senior agent, and yet, he found he couldn't and he didn't. Still, there was something more. Neal wasn't just Peter's partner. Jones thought about how they finished each other's sentences, and anticipated each other's actions and bickered in alternating fashion like bratty siblings and the world's strangest old married couple. How they take lunches with Elizabeth at least three times a week and how Neal brings a flask of Italian roast for Peter in the morning and how Peter grumbles halfheartedly but takes Neal to visit his favourite museums outside his radius anyway. How Neal is a frequent guest at the Burke residence and how he takes Satchmo to the dog park every so often (He knows. He's checked Neal's ankle monitor often enough) and how Neal straightens Peter's tie before his meetings with the oversight committee and how Neal makes sure Peter doesn't forget his own wedding anniversary. Somewhere along the way, Neal had become Peter's friend and Jones could sense that Peter's turmoil wasn't just because he felt he'd failed Neal in his responsibility for him, but because he'd failed Neal in his friendship.

They took turns crashing for a few hours on the couch in Peter's office but otherwise they followed up every scrap of a lead that came into the Bureau, no matter how slight the connection or what the hour was. Tempers were fraying, faces were growing haggard in weariness and desperation permeated the office. Peter seemed to age ten years. Jones didn't think he fared any better as he took in his appearance in front of a mirror. As he splashed water on his face to wash the grit from his eyes, the thought occurred to Jones that he wished Neal could see this, if only so he could be sure of his welcome and his value on Peter's team; that all these people didn't think of him as Peter's pet con but that he truly was one of _theirs_, one of _them_, and _they_ took care of their own.


	2. Chapter 2

Mea Culpa 2/2

Summary: Neal is missing and Jones thinks about how it all went wrong. Prequel to Fragile.

Warning: Some language, disturbing images

Author's Note: People really liked seeing Jones' POV before, so here's a bit more to the story! Merci mille fois to Lilynette for the French translations!

...

In the end, it was Mozzie who found them the address where they believed Neal was being held. He'd even broken all his own rules and called Peter at the FBI himself. Jones wondered what sort of history Neal and Mozzie had to inspire such loyalty in the quirky, brilliant little man. He doubted he'd ever know the true story.

The division suited up and prepped their tactical teams in record time. They were shortly out the door and speeding along to what appeared to be an abandoned industrial complex on the docks.

After what seemed like an eternity, they finally approached the location. As he checked his gear one more time, Jones didn't want to get his hopes up, because they'd already done this three times with nothing to show for it. He wasn't sure if he could handle the crushing disappointment yet again when they turned over every inch of the building only to find they'd been wrong or simply too late. They'd found the remains of the tie that Neal had been wearing in the second warehouse raided and the shattered looks on everyone's faces had been painful to take in. But knowing that it was Moz who'd given them this address, he found himself hoping against all hope.

Night had fallen and the complex was unlit. There was no activity in and around the area. He wasn't sure if that was a good sign. On receiving the signal, the various teams entered the crumbling old factory. Methodically they searched room to room. A thick layer of dust blanketed everything, and moonlight filtered in through broken windows to land on rusty machinery that had lain undisturbed in years. The smell of mildew and mouse droppings permeated the still, thick darkness as they searched every rotting crate and crawl space. There was no sign that anyone had been this way recently at all. Jones couldn't bear to look at Peter as they finished the sweep of their assigned quadrant.

Then as they were about to exit the building, chatter started over their radios. Apparently the guys doing the Northeast section had found something. They rushed over in all haste and found themselves outside a series of rooms in the basement level that were empty and had no dust layer. All the walls were faced with plywood and looked like someone was halfway through repainting them. They circled in and out of the unfinished rooms dozens of times. Jones knew that there was something hidden here. There had to be.

The leader of the tactical team for the quadrant was about to call it a day. Peter insisted on more time. In the flickering beams of their flashlights, Jones could see Peter running dusty hands through his short hair in desperation. The funny thing was that if Neal were here, Jones figured he'd know exactly how to case the room, and find any hidden panel or loose board that would lead them to the treasure they sought.

Only they weren't looking for missing paintings or jewels here and Neal wasn't with them. Every minute that ticked by was a minute that Neal may not have left.

Jones resumed probing along the edges of plywood with urgency, tapping the sides, searching for any loose joints, listening for the slightest echo of a hollow panel.

It was Peter who figured out that the room in the very centre was smaller than it was supposed to be based on the dimensions in the other rooms. They stared at each other as realization set in and they dashed inside, frantically trying to dig out the panels nailed to the walls, and calling for sledgehammers, crowbars and heavy machinery.

When they finally pried off the panels on the innermost wall, it was only to discover a newly cemented brick wall behind it. Horrific thoughts and what-ifs began streaming through his mind and Jones forced himself to focus on organizing the tactical team and the tools they would need to get through this new obstacle as he dimly registered Peter slamming his bare hands on the jagged brick and cement screaming Neal's name.

Diana pulled Peter away as they ran a thermal sensor over the wall. They couldn't risk bludgeoning through if there was a chance that Neal was behind it. But the readings showed nothing so Jones ordered the tactical team to begin demolishing the wall, his heart weighing heavily within him like so much lead. He had been an agent for years, and he'd seen his fair share of ugliness but this was the first time Jones felt that his state of mind might be personally compromised.

When a sufficiently large hole was prepared, all they could see was inky blackness behind. Jones dreaded what they might find and he hesitated. Peter yanked himself from Diana's grasp, grabbed a high beam flashlight from the nearest agent and leaned into the gap, only to find no body as he had imagined in his worst nightmare, but the remains of an old, rickety wooden staircase, now partially destroyed as they had broken through the wall, leading downward into abyssal darkness.

The comprehension of another floor beneath their feet spurred everyone into renewed action. The wall was completely broken down and the staircase judged unsafe without reinforcements. They lowered themselves into the frigid sub-basement with the aid of ropes and immediately began searching the warren of narrow prohibition era tunnels and storerooms. Jones could hear the scurrying of rats and saw the shine of condensation on the mouldy walls. Booted footprints in the filthy floor indicated recent activity so even though their point of entry may have been bricked up, there may very well be multiple entrances into the maze from an external access route so they were on heightened alert.

Jones began marking a rudimentary map as he and Peter progressed further down the main tunnel with one tactical team, checking every room and closet while Diana took a second team down a corridor off the main one. Then they got to a door with a heavy padlock and he reached for it with shaking fingers. The sparks flew and glinted harshly in the darkness as they cut through it and they flung the door open to reveal an old rusting boiler room, with a painfully low, mottled ceiling and calcium deposits from generations ago crusting every surface and there at the far corner, chained to the pipes and huddled on a thin, dirty mattress was their boy. For a moment, Jones stood frozen as Peter dashed forward, reaching out to Neal, who was worryingly unresponsive, even with the amount of noise that they had made breaking into the room. He stepped closer and saw that Neal wasn't alone, but cradling a small child to him, three or four years old, wrapped in the remains of his torn, bloody jacket. As Peter anxiously checked for a pulse, the child woke and clutched harder at Neal, who also seemed to stir, tightening his arms around the child, and curling even more around the child if possible, shielding her from their flashlights and the harsh sounds of the invading tactical team. Jones got them all to leave but grabbed a floor lantern from one of the probies.

"Neal! Oh my god Neal!"

Peter was then kneeling on the ground in front of them, slowly brushing messy locks of dark curls from Neal's bloody, bruised face. His heart broke as he saw Neal flinch from the gentle contact.

"Neal, please, it's Peter."

Slowly, Neal looked up at him, squinting in the dim light of the lantern, his fingers reaching out to Peter's face, like he couldn't believe the sight before him.

"Peter…" he breathed. "You came, you really came…" Jones strained to hear the broken little whispers as Neal's breathing rasped in the frigid, pungent air. He edged closer, sitting on his haunches.

"Oh Neal. Did you think for a moment that I wouldn't?"

Jones had never felt more like an intruder on such an intimate moment as Peter took Neal's icy cold, clammy hand in his bigger ones.

"Come on. We gotta get you out of here." Relief coloured Peter's every word and he tried for humour next. "You make friends everywhere you go, don't you kiddo. Who's this little thing?"

"This is Sophie," Neal began to shift the child so that he could introduce her to Peter but she wouldn't meet his eyes.

Peter tried to reach for her but the child panicked, wailing in fear, and clutched Neal even harder. Neither Peter nor Jones missed the pained gasp that Neal couldn't stop from escaping as the child grabbed him, and his breathing became even more laboured.

Even so, Neal immediately started to soothe the little girl in French.

"Sophie! Sophie, Je suis encore là avec toi. Ces personnes sont là pour nous aider. Souviens toi je t'ai dit que mon ami viendrais pour nous..." _Sophie! Sophie, I'm still here with you. These people are here to help us. Remember I told you my friend would come for us…_

"Regarde, Sophie, c'est Peter." _See, Sophie, this is Peter._

"I am very pleased to meet you, Sophie." Peter stuck out a hand for Sophie to shake. After some prompting from Neal, she warily took it.

"Is the kid injured?"

"Cuts and bruises, but they didn't do anything to her." Thank god for small mercies.

"Can you walk?"

"I...I think so…"

"Sophie, chérie, je dois me lever maintenant. Tu peux te lever aussi?" _Sophie, dearest, I need to stand up now. Can you stand up too? _

Sophie looked from Neal to Peter and back, deciding it was ok, she slowly unwrapped herself from around Neal and stood back on the mattress, her little bare feet peeking out from under a filthy flannel nightgown, one hand clutching Neal's torn sleeve, the other still clasping his jacket around her. Her fearful grey eyes were round and frightened as Peter leant forward, quickly checking Neal over for injuries. There were at least a few broken ribs, a stab wound on the right side still sluggishly bleeding, plus a myriad other cuts, bruises and scrapes. A long gash at the hairline had bled all over the left side of his face. Thick heavy manacles encircled his wrists and ankles and Jones thought it spoke to the condition Neal was in because he hadn't been able to pick them.

They worked as fast as they could to get Neal out of the restraints as the child crouched by his side, with Neal whispering reassurances to her all the while.

Peter gently put an arm under Neal, supporting him as Neal forced himself to his feet, pain evident in every movement. His legs trembled from long confinement and Neal swayed, but Peter was there to steady him. Sophie was huddled behind Neal, now attached to his pant leg. Jones could see that Neal would barely be able to walk out but the medics would not be able to get the gurneys down the ropes into the basement. Peter had left orders to reinforce the stairs before they'd gone hunting through the tunnels and Jones hoped that they were finished.

"Neal, can you get Sophie to go with Jones?" Peter observed their little dilemma.

But no amount of persuasion would make Sophie let herself be carried by Jones and while he didn't take it personally, Neal was fading fast. Finally Neal bent down with much difficulty and picked up the panicking child. Jones didn't want to know what that cost Neal. The red stain on his side was visibly growing bigger.

"Neal!" Peter admonished.

"I'm good. I can hold her. Just …just be with me."

Peter could do that. He wrapped his overcoat around Neal and Sophie and with one arm around Neal, they made their way out of the cramped little room, with Jones clearing the tunnel in front of them, finding the way back to the staircase, which had been rebuilt with the plywood panels from above. It was awkward, but with Jones on one side and Peter on the other, they carried and shuffled and dragged their way up those stairs by sheer willpower.

By the time they got outside to the courtyard, they were all but carrying Neal. Neal's slender body was wracked by tremors and his breathing was growing increasingly laboured. Jones could feel a warm wetness soaking through his jacket and shirt sleeve. They stumbled a few times, and Neal's legs finally gave out as the ambulances appeared, sirens blaring, in the yard.

Things descended into chaos as agents closed in. The medics appeared and the child began to scream as someone pulled her out of Neal's arms. Neal was taken away from them, and Jones led Peter off to the side so that the medics could do their job. Peter's expression was distressingly bereft.

They saw Neal being lifted onto a gurney, with various wires and an IV stuck into him but then their view got blocked again by milling agents and LEOs. The child was still wailing in full panic somewhere nearby.

Jones looked around for Sophie but they were suddenly approached by a medic.

"Is one of you Agent Peter Burke? Mr Caffrey is asking for you."

Peter wasted no time and ran to the ambulance she pointed at, Jones hard on his heels.

"Peter, Peter…" Neal's voice sounded so weak but at least he was still awake. "Where's Sophie? I can hear her. She's scared. And she doesn't understand…Please bring her to me…please…"

Jones looked up and scanned the crowd before spotting Diana watching helpless as two medics attempted to restrain the hysterical child, who was kicking, biting and screaming like a banshee. He gave Peter a nod and ran over to them.

Jones' experience with kids was limited to his twice-yearly visits with his small gaggle of nieces and nephews when he went home to see the family at Thanksgiving and Easter. He got along well enough with the older boys as they were always up for a game of baseball but everything else was a bit of mystery to him. However, even he knew that making a grab for the girl in this state would not end well for anyone.

He didn't remember much of his high school French that he'd only taken to impress some long ago crush, but at least he knew this little girl's name, and he knew what she wanted most right then.

"Sophie! Sophie!" he got as near as he could and called her name. "I will take you to Neal! ...Neal!... Neal, Sophie…"

That got her attention.

Jones held out his arms and she launched herself at him. He ran what he hoped was a soothing hand down the tiny quivering back and walked back to Neal, with Diana and the medics trailing behind, looking vaguely impressed.

As they neared Neal's gurney, Sophie called out to him and Neal reached out with his one good arm. Jones was hesitant but ultimately had no choice as the child dove downwards towards the safety of her protector and he placed her on Neal's uninjured side. They all watched transfixed as the child tucked herself under Neal's arm, sobbing quietly, and Neal, even in his fevered state, gently cradled her, soothing her with soft words and a kiss to her wispy baby fine hair as his bright eyes began to close. Peter ran a tender paternal hand over Neal's dark curls, wordlessly bleeding emotion for his partner. Jones finally allowed mind-numbing relief to flood through him after ten days of pent-up tension and stamped-down fear.

"Sirs, Ma'am. Mr Caffrey needs immediate medical attention and the ambulance must leave now. The child needs treatment also and has to go in a separate bus."

Peter made to reach forward for Sophie but was halted by Neal's gesture to stop. Neal gently unwound the child's arms from around him, and sat her up.

"Sophie, chérie, Je suis très fatigué. Je dois faire une sieste dans ce camion. Peux-tu être une bonne fille et faire une sieste aussi?" _Sophie, dearest, I am very sleepy. I have to take a nap in this van here. Can you be a good girl and take a nap too?" _

"Sieste avec toi." _Nap with you. _

"Désolé, chérie. Ce camion est pour les garçons seulement. Celle-là est pour les filles. C'est juste pour un petit, petit moment."_Sorry, dearest. This van is for boys only. That one is for girls. It's just for a little, little while." _

He held out a hand to Diana who surprised, came forward and took it.

"Regarde chérie, c'est ma bonne amie Diana." _See dearest, this is my good friend Diana._

He placed Sophie's little hand in Diana's.

"Elle va y aller avec toi, et vous pourrez tous les deux aller dans le camion des filles pour un instant. On sera de retour ensemble avant que tu t'en rends compte. ...ça va être amusant, juste des filles.." _She'll go with you, and you two can go to the girls' van for a bit. We'll be back together before you know it. …it'll be fun, just girls…_

Sophie looked up fearfully at Diana, who smiled warmly and seemed to be trying hard to look as non-threatening as possible, then back at Neal who was rapidly losing his battle with unconsciousness.

"S'il te plaît, chérie, fais ça pour moi? Fais ça pour Neal?"_ Please, dearest, do this for me? Do this for Neal?_

There was a pause before he heard a small whispered answer_. "ok..."_

"Tu es mon petit ange... merci chérie... va avec Diana, bonne fille."_ You are my little angel…thank you dearest…go with Diana, there's a good girl._

Jones and Peter watched as Diana left with Sophie in her arms, the sad little face looking back forlornly as Neal's gurney was loaded into the ambulance. Jones turned to his boss. They were both bone-weary, haggard and filthy, but Neal needed Peter more than he did so he assured Peter that he would wrap up the scene here, get the reports in and join them at the hospital later. Peter reached up and squeezed his shoulder, gratitude shining in his tired brown eyes.

The thought came to him as he watched the ambulances carrying his team away, with Neal's blood drying on his shirtsleeves, that he'd never really had to question his upper-middle class world view until he met Neal Caffrey and now he realized that as he approached his fourth decade in life, he was going to have to rethink his definition of what it truly meant to be A Good Man.


End file.
